


I'll Warm You

by Clarisse (transnymphtaire)



Series: Advent Calendar 2016 [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cold, First Kiss, Fluff, Genderfluid Character, Other, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:59:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transnymphtaire/pseuds/Clarisse
Summary: You don't know what you're missing until you have it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed.

Stories tell the tale of children unable to feel warmth. According to the myths, they’ll only know of heat when in the vicinity of others like them. These are the children that brave winter with naked feet, that won’t get sick from the cold. These are the children that you should be afraid of.

What the myths forget to mention is that these children grow up to find their soulmate, and that it’s only their soulmate that can warm them.

Soulmates are a whole other tale for most - it’s the tale that your grandparents tell while reminiscing of the couple next door, the tale that movies try to sell you. It’s the tale told to children who can feel warmth. If a child of ice hears it, the teller most likely have pity in their eyes.

Children of ice, of cold, children of the unwanted. That’s what they call them.

* * *

A snowball hits him in the face, followed by laughter from the other orphans. Tom reach up a hand to brush it off. The snow isn’t cold to him, only mildly unpleasant against his skin. It falls to the ground as he brush it off, though some of it is clinging to his hair. Not that it matters, the worst that can happen is that he gets wet. He turns to walk inside before the next snowball can hit him, knowing that he’ll only get in trouble if his clothes get too wet. No one worries that he risk getting sick, and why would they? Tom is made of ice. His heart is cold, as is the look in his eyes.

They can’t reach him when they call him unwanted and withhold clothes for the children that need it more. They can’t reach him because they don’t want to.

He spends the rest of the day in his room, re-reading the book about other children like him for the nth time.

* * *

Years pass as they tend to do, and Tom only grows colder. He dress like the warm children do, hoping to not draw attention to himself in school. When he gains the nickname of _Ice Prince_ , it’s for his personality and his looks, nothing else. Tom wears the name as a crown, as a sword, and as a shield. He is made of ice, and that’s what makes him stronger. He never gets sick, he never gets cold, he never gets warm. The absence of one leads to the absence of the other; nothing can hurt him.

He fits a mold, and he does not realise that he has adapted himself to it until the absence disappear and he don’t know what to do. There’s no guidelines for what happens when a child of ice feel sudden warmth blossoming inside. It’s as if he’s carrying the sun inside his chest.

Then it’s gone and the comforting cold embrace him once more. Tom can only blink, shake his head, and continue on. He tries to tell himself that he imagined it, but how would he imagine something that he has never known?

* * *

It happens again merely a week later, long enough time for him to have convinced himself that it was his imagination but still close enough to the first incident for him to immediately pay attention to his surroundings. At first nothing stands out in the grey school corridor, but then he feel himself drawn towards one of the strangers that he passed over. There’s a boy with bright green eyes hidden behind round glasses and wild black hair that is looking towards him, wearing a red dress. Tom blinks, and then the boy is gone. The stranger took the fire in his chest with them.

* * *

Tom keeps an eye open for the stranger from that point on. He wish that he had something to go on, some kind of description that other people would recognise, but what stuck with him the most was the green eyes. There’s too many other strangers with green eyes, but none have the same shade, the same shape.

None fill him with fire.

* * *

The third time it happens, Tom thinks he might be dreaming. He’s stuck on the bus to the orphanage because of the weather; a blizzard is on its way. Snowflakes are dancing outside the window, and it is as he’s watching them lazily that small embers flicker to life in his chest. Not seeing the stranger on the bus, he searches through the snowflakes.

A glimpse of red catches his attention. On the snow covered football plan that belongs to the school, there’s someone standing with arms stretched out. The wind pulls at their hair, tear at the red fabric of their dress. Their legs are bare, and Tom bet that they’re not wearing any shoes.

The stranger must be like him.

He needs to get off the bus. The need surges through him, and he’s up from his seat and demanding that the bus driver let him out within seconds. He can’t lose the stranger a third time, not when he finally understands that they’re the same - they’re different sides of the same coin.

It takes longer than he wanted, but the bus driver finally opens the doors. Tom disappears among the snowflakes, running as quick as he can towards the football plan although he’s not quite sure why. They go to the same school, he could have stayed on the bus and they would have met again. Yet the feeling of the fire in his chest growing bigger, warmer, egg him into running quicker.

Tom come to a stop in front of the stranger, who lower their arms and look at him with a smile. There’s no question in those eyes.

“I guess that we don’t need an ice breaker.” the stranger says. Tom can only blink dumbly before the joke breaks down into logic. It’s not particularly funny.

“Who are you?” he partly asks, partly demands. It looks like the stranger is starting on another joke, before they remember that the first one was met with silence.

“Most just call me Harry.”

“But who are you?”

“Today, I prefer being Hadrian. If you ask me another day, I might prefer being Harley.”

Tom nods. He doesn’t quite understand right now, but he can research it later.

“Pronouns?” he asks, because that’s a thing that he knows to do. The smile that Hadrian gives him turns even brighter, if such a thing is possible.

“They/them.”

“I’m Tom. He/him.”

“It’s ice to meet you, Tom.”

He pretends that he doesn’t notice the pun, and hold out his hand for Hadrian to shake. When they make skin contact - dark skin against white - Tom feel as if he’s burning up from the inside. Maybe this is why they were born with an absence of warmth; because they have so much of it when they’re together.

* * *

The cold is horrible after knowing the wonders of fire in his bones. After their first actual meeting, they barely got any time together before the weather forced them to return home. Tom’s room at the orphanage has lost its worth as a sanctuary; he can only think of being next to Harry again.

Whoever said that children of ice are children of the unwanted couldn’t be more wrong. He want Harry as he want nothing else, if only to feel the warmth that has been absent his whole life up until this point.

* * *

“I’m so cold without you.” Harry greets him the next day. They’re wearing a pair of skinny jeans, a short-sleeved button-up shirt and an open vest full of pins and patches. Still no shoes. He almost expect Harry to wear a hat as well, until he notice the flowers stuck in between their tight curls.

“I can’t imagine.” Tom drawls, although he felt exactly the same. “Still Hadrian?”

“Harley.” Harry corrects, and sit down next to him. They’re in the school library - lunch just started, and Tom had planned to do some reading. He prefers Harley’s company over the book he has to read for English class.

“Is it weird if I feel like we have known each other forever?”

“Only slightly.” Tom answer as he reach out to take their hand in his. The warmth that spreads through him as their fingers intertwine is better than anything he has ever imagined, and he can’t help but make a pleased sound. Harley smiles and squeezes his hand.

“Wanna come over after school?”

Tom hesitate for all but a moment before he nods. Everything to keep Harry’s warmth for as long as possible, and to not return to the orphanage before he has to.

* * *

They sit next together on Harry’s bed, shoulder against shoulder, hands intertwined once more. Harry’s snake - a corn snake named Hedwig - is on Tom’s lap, and he strokes her scales with his free hand.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Harley agrees. Tom looks up, only to see that Harley is looking at him instead. The warmth that spread through him is of a completely different kind than the one being near Harry gives.

They lean closer to each other - slowly to not disturb Hedwig too much. Tom’s glance flicker between meeting Harry’s eyes and looking at their lips. He notice that Harley is doing the same.

When their lips meet, it’s in a shy kiss full of wonderment and curiosity. If he thought holding Harry’s hand put him on fire, it can’t compare to what kissing them is like.

After a life of being frozen, he’s in a blizzard of fire, and he never wants to go back.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really weak for Harry in red. Remember, clothes have no gender.


End file.
